Danger
by Plania
Summary: Steve, Danny and the rest of the Five-0 team investigate a bloody murder, but it turns I to much more than they expect with danger at every turn.


The sun crawled across distant, mountainous horizons, coloring in the pale sand and reflecting pale blue and pinks in the glimmering water. It stretched like knives over the land, the light only blocked by the trembling leaves of the foliage-rich forest or fluttering seagulls birds chirping and squawking blissfully to the sound of the waves lapping and crashing on the beaches a few yards away. Along the shore, a beaten to hell cabin nestled just where the dirt and sand mingled and the trees abruptly stopped to allow space from the sea. Ivy climbed the wooden walls, curving a weaving through the decayed planks in search of the sunlight that promised a warm morning.

But ivy wasn't the only thing on the battered walls.

Dark blood stained the wood, the pale gray wood spattered with foreboding red. Along the back wall, the opposite end of where the door should've been, two chains dangled down, the metallic links stressed and pulling against each other from the mutilated body hanging by the hands. Steve hunched over the corpse, crouched down with furrowed eyebrows framing his green eyes as they flickered over the multiple stab wounds, bent limbs and battered face. The beating this guy took certainly fit the status of the cabin he died in.

"We got an I.D yet?" Danny asked from over his shoulder in a gentle reminder, his voice soft like it always was at a murder scene.

Steve reached into the guy's front pockets, finding the right one empty, however the left one occupied by a leather wallet. The Navy S.E.A.L pulled it close to him, resting his elbows on his knees as he flipped it open, surprised to find the thin plastic stretched over the material where one would keep an I.D for easy access vacant. His gloved fingers flipped through the credit cards and money till he reached the familiar rainbow printed on the slick I.D inscribed with small black lettering and a picture. The picture depicted the victim exactly, neat, curly blonde hair, blue-gray eyes and slanted eyes, giving him the look of a magician.

"Looks like our guy is named James O'Loherty thirty eight years old," Steve replied, handing it to Danny so he could take a look while Steve continued to comb through the wallet.

Danny frowned, running a hand over his slicked back hair as he peered at the I.D. "Irish," he commented.

Nodding in agreement, Steve pushed himself up so he stood next to his partner, lines of light that flitted between the wooden planks dancing on him as he did so. His fingers slipped into the last slot of the wallet, pulling out a small piece of paper and grimacing as he witnessed what was on it. Exhaling loudly, he traded it with Danny for the I.D, he sharing the same reaction as Steve.

On the three inch by three inch slip, a black-and-white photo of a youthful couple, one being James in his twenties cradling a baby in his arms and grinning warmly down at it with the woman standing adjacent to him. He flipped it over to the back, reading pen lettering of 'Fiona, May 7th, 1999'."

Things were always worse when they had to inform a family of a lost one, but delivering the worst news of somebody's life was part of their job.

It wasn't long before Five-0 tracked down the address of the victim, and Steve and Danny sped towards it in the silver camaro. Small pebbles and dust wedged themselves in the minuscule grooves in the tires, the rubber gripping them and tossing them back onto the pavement as the vehicle swiftly climbed up a winding road. The engine hummed softly as the car sped towards its destination, muffled by the muttering inside the car.

Danny leaned against the door, elbow propped against the small dip in the plastic where one would place trash or such in, his face resting on his knuckles. His blue eyes studied the green trees flickering by while Steve's green one concentrated on the road. "I just don't see what the point of pineapples are," Danny grumbled, "We already have a yellow fruit; a banana."

Steve smirked and glanced briefly at the blonde slouched over next to him,"What, only one color is permitted per food type? What about strawberries and cherries?"

"Strawberries and apples don't taste like an animal did it's business on them," Danny countered.

Steve shrugged. "Pineapples taste fine to me."

Danny exhaled loudly and repositioned himself on the armrest on the opposite side he'd been leaning on and stretching out his legs. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, your taste buds have been tainted from all the saltwater," the blonde huffed as he shifted positions again, this time simply leaning back in the seat and using his hands to emphasize his words, "Not to mention they don't even have an original name, they stole it from another fruit and a tree."

The fruitful debate was cut short as the trees opened up to a beach, a massive Hawaiian house perched on thick pillars from the back with a winding staircase leading down to the sand. The front of the house was level, a brightly painted door swung wide open with just a glass one separating inside from outside. Steve pulled next an expensive looking black mustang, the only car in the driveway, quickly I clicking his seatbelt and sliding out of the car. As he passed by the mustang, he glanced briefly through the rolled down windows to search for any clues or signs, though the car gave away nothing, so he slammed the door shut and sauntered next to Danny up to the front door. The hopped up two wooden steps to a rectangular porch equipped with a few Hawaiian, wood-woven chairs and some vibrant flowers placed in thin, curved pots.

Danny stood beside Steve as he wrapped on the door with his knuckles, waiting a moment or two with no answer before trying the doorbell. While Steve did that, Danny studied the exterior of the house; a well coordinated theme from what he could tell. As well, a large, empty birdcage stood next to the couch.

A shrill barking startled Danny, snapping his attention to the yard where it seemed to be originating from. Whipping around to witness two dogs holding the ends of a elongated limb of a tree, leaves still poking out from the bark. The smaller one, a black and white pitbull by the looks of it, seemed to want to speed ahead by the looks of it, while the much larger German Shepard slowly ambled along to the where Steve and Danny curiously turned around on the porch, their tails wagging behind them.

Claws clicked on the wood as the rushed up to meet the newcomers, not bothering to drop the stick as they climbed up the wood. As they approached, Danny knelt down onto his knee and gave the German Sheapard a scratch behind the ear, cocking his head to examine the leather color where a shiny dog tag jingled. The address on the tag matched the house.

"Hey buddy," Dannny cooed as he continued to run his fingers through the k-9's hair, "You got an owner around here?"

"I don't think the dog is going to corporate, Danny," Steve chuckled, turning his attention back to the door. He glanced through the glass windows at the back of the house that stretched up to the ceiling. "Hey Danno, I think I see somebody by the beach."

Without uttering another word, Steve pushed pass the pitbull and rushed around the side of the house, Danny following grudgingly after him down a stone pathway that lead down a series of rocky ledges to the sandy shore below.

Sure enough, a blonde girl with her back turned to them leaned against a pier-like structure that looked onto the ocean, where gray-winged seagulls sat along the railing and cried as if waiting for food.

"Fiona?" Steve called over the crashing waves as he trudged over the sand.

The girl turned abruptly, her long hair swishing around as she heard the voice, revealing a pale face shielded by a pair of large sunglasses, and a welcoming smirk growing as she saw the two stepping onto the pier. She pressed her back against the railing and folded her arms over her chest. "Shannon," she corrected, "You looking for my mom? You won't find her here."

"Five-0, Steve McGarret and Detective Danny Williams," Steve gestured as he quickly spoke, glancing towards Danny as he was mentioned. "It might be better if your mom was here right now, if she's near."

"You know, a simple 'hello' would've been fine," she commented wryly, just as Danny calculated if she was born when the slip of paper said, then she'd be fourteen. Common reply for a teen, and neither of the two enjoyed the presence of sassy teenagers. Her face took an animated expression as she mimicked Steve's serious, deeper voice and soldier stance. "Not a cop, Shannon O'Loherty, and my mom is in Europe right now, so good luck getting her here."

"Well, Shannon, you might want to come inside with us and sit down, we have some unfortunate I formation to share with you," Danny frowned.

She grinned. "No thanks,"

Man, Danny was not looking forward Grace being a teenager.

"Sorry to inform you, but your father was found murdered this morning," Steve said somberly, both him and his partner waiting for the familiar gasp of shock.

The blonde returned to her leisurely stance of leaning against the pier with a smirk playing on her face. Her arms folded her chest. "Well, that is unfortunate," she nodded.

Steve blinked. "Uh, we have some questions we'd like to ask to help us put the murderer behind bars, if that's okay,"

"Sure,"

After a few questions, it was evident that the conversation was getting nowhere but flustering the two cops. This teenager had more than just sass, but she had nerve, a dangerous combination.

"Detective Dwarf, G.I Joe, I have-"

"I'm sorry," Danny interrupted her, his expression furrowed in distaste, "Did you just call me Detective Dwarf?"

"Would you prefer Sherlock Shortguy? Meddling Midget?" she taunted, giving Danny a sweet-enough-to-rot-your-teeth smile.

Steve smiled for once.

"You, sir, can stop grinning like a kid with ice-cream," he retorted, giving his partner a vexed glance before shifting his blue gaze back at the girl, "And you, miss, can stop with the alliterations."

"Sorry sir, I sometimes sour situations with sass."

"No kidding," Danny huffed, looking anything but amused.

"Yeah, you don't seem the kind to make jokes. Or good ones, anyways," she commented, her sly tone shifting into something more literal and serious.

As the two bickered, Steve examined every bit of the kid; the quick, carefully chosen words, her way of provoking Danny, how her stance seemed casual and unthreatened by the presence of cops. She began to amused him, but her odd reactions stirred curiosity inside him, or rather whipped it around as if in a blender. When the two cops first approached the girl, she tested them, answering any questions Steve or Danny shot at her with sarcasm or vagueness. They needed her help. With all her ways of twisting the situation around, she was doing anything but aiding their pursuit of the killer.

"Okay, Shannon, that's enough. We have a murder, and we need you to help. Enough with the games, and start answering our questions," Steve ordered, his words enforced with a stern, green gaze. "No more games."

"Sorry, I don't think I have any help to offer," she admitted.

"Tell us what you know anyways," Steve replied, arms folding over his chest as he insisted she answer.

"Well, I know I don't know why my dad is dead. I know that he wouldn't show any signs of him being in trouble. I know that my dad isn't on the good side of a lot of people. I also know that my dad wouldn't allow himself to be killed unless the effect of him being alive would be worse than him being dead."

"Could you name those people who didn't like your dad?" Danny questioned, "Or why they didn't like him?"

The girl shook her head, her blonde hair gathered back in a pony tail swaying back and forth with the motion. "What exactly happened to my dad?"

Another peculiar thing about the girl that intrigued Steve; her father showed up stabbed and beat to death, and she barely batted an eyelash. Maybe her gaze moistened a bit behind her sunglasses, but her voice never trembled, her lip never quivered, her stance remained leisurely. He came to the conclusion that she must exhibit some emotion through her eyes, and that fact that they were covered bugged him.

Ignoring her question, Steve requested, "Can you take your sunglasses off?"

Her hands fidgeted once, as if she planned on removing her sunglasses but then decided against it. The blond girl shifted in position. Placing her hands on the flat top of the rail, she lifted herself up with a strong push of her arms and settled herself on the edge. "Answer my question first," she commented in a challenging tone, her voice laced with the slightest sharpness.

"He was tortured till he bled to death" Steve informed her, impatience working it's way into his voice, "Now, take off your sunglasses."

"Eh, it's sunny."

"Take them off,"

"No,"

Steve grimaced and tightened his hand into a fist. He stifled n exasperated sigh, he just about to say say something as he phone vibrated in his pocket and ringed shrilly. Smirking unhappily, Steve shot the girl a look before taking multiple steps away, leaving her and Danny.


End file.
